


Mortality Remembered

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Angst, BDSM - Safewords, Character Study, Collars, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-07
Updated: 2009-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sub!Gabriel safewords during sex. Hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortality Remembered

They stumble into their bedroom, banging against the doorjamb as their feet entangle, incapable of walking, stripping and kissing all at once. Mohinder breaks away, wincing in sympathy as he rubs Gabriel's shoulder where it has hit the sharp, wooden corner. But the pain is gone as quickly as it comes, and the bruise has faded before it has time to form. Gabriel twists his fingers into Mohinder's hair and crashes their mouths together once more.

Pressed together, their bodies are nothing but heat and hardness and pounding blood. Gabriel can feel his own heartbeat speed to match the rhythmic pulse of Mohinder's, that constant, heady beat that underscores their time together. Not once has Gabriel adjusted his hearing to tune out the sound. It thrums, always, on the outskirts of his senses.

He curls his hand around the defined ridge of Mohinder's hip, feeling the muscles, tendons and bone shift beneath his skin as Gabriel pushes at him, directing him towards the bed. But Mohinder stands immovable, his palms flat to Gabriel's chest, nudging him away. When their mouths fall apart, a pitiful whimper reaches Gabriel's ears but he can't be sure whose lips the sound has stolen from. Mohinder licks his lips and runs an appraising gaze along the length of Gabriel's half-nude body, stepping back to better appreciate the sight.

"On your knees, Gabriel," Mohinder says. His voice is low and husky, rumbling deep in his throat as he growls out what he wants. He looks at Gabriel with heavily lidded eyes and Gabriel can see, can always see, how much it turns Mohinder on to dole out orders in his clipped accent, how aroused Mohinder gets when Gabriel eagerly obeys.

And yet, there is a flicker of defiance in Gabriel's core. It's a dark, dangerous feeling railing against his self-control, churning in the pit of his belly until his skin prickles and the hair at the nape of his neck begins to stand on end. His fingers twitch with power that aches to be released. The baser parts of him, all instinct and illogical, unthinking desire, scream at him to throw Mohinder against the wall, with his mind and his body, to pin him there and break him down until Mohinder understands that Gabriel is not to be toyed with.

Sylar's hunger burns at the back of his throat.

His eyes narrow and Mohinder moves half a step closer, arching up on the tips of his toes to stare Gabriel down. His heart is pounding quicker now. With what? Gabriel wonders. Anger at Gabriel's waywardness? Excitement at the things they are about to do? Or, fear? Fear that Gabriel's façade might yet crack, after so many years of perfect submission? The thought that Mohinder might still harbour doubts as to who and what Gabriel really is is enough for Gabriel to reassert the iron grip he keeps on his abilities. He gives an apologetic quirk of his lips and ducks his head meekly, rocking back on the balls of his feet and falling lightly to his knees.

Gabriel settles into position with the easy grace that comes from years long habit. He sits back, spine straight, the curve of his ass resting on the heels of his feet as the tips of his toes only barely overlay one another. His knees splay wide and he sits with crotch, belly and neck exposed. His arms fall naturally at his sides, hands curling into loose fists with his knuckles brushing the floor. He keeps his head bowed but his eyes open, watching Mohinder's feet as he comes to stand within the arc made by his own spread thighs.

Mohinder says nothing and steps no closer. Gabriel feels a flash of impatience at the sudden stillness after the hands and grinding hips of mere minutes before but breathes deeply and counts the passing seconds to calm his mind. The denim of his jeans pulls tight across his erection and the throb of blood in his cock echoes the thrum of Mohinder's heart, pulsing just half a beat behind. The longer he waits, the louder it sounds to Gabriel's ears until the syncopated rhythm drowns out all else.

Then, Mohinder's hand touches his temple gently. Fingers pet and stroke him, rake through his hair and caress him from his brow to the base of his skull. The sounds of Mohinder's too long pants, the hem dragging along the carpet; the scent of Mohinder's sweat, his rich cologne and the undertaste of his arousal; the feel of his fingertips, a tender, constant pressure on Gabriel's scalp; a plethora of sensations come rushing to him and the unrelenting cacophony of _blood_, at one time all that Sylar could hear, is relegated once more to the edges of Gabriel's mind.

"So beautiful," Mohinder whispers above him as his feet move out of view. Gabriel wants roll his eyes and scoff at the compliment, at the word that seems so much more befitting of Mohinder than him, but Mohinder has invited no comment. Gabriel knows well enough to hold his tongue. Mohinder trails a finger around Gabriel's neck. The rim of his nail scrapes the rough edge of Gabriel's stubble, tracing a path over his Adam's apple and skimming the never-silent artery where it pulses just below his skin.

Gabriel shivers when Mohinder's touch moves away. His body sways back unconsciously, trying wordlessly to follow as Mohinder steps around him. Mohinder caresses him lightly, comfortingly smoothing the tousled hair back from his forehead and then pressing delicately between his shoulder blades to readjust his posture. Gabriel accepts both the reassurance and the rebuke, straightening his spine again and holding the position that Mohinder so likes to see him in.

When the cool, supple leather of the collar winds around his neck, Gabriel allows himself to slouch back against the warmth and strength of Mohinder's thighs where he stands rooted behind him. Mohinder pulls the collar tight, momentarily pressing on Gabriel's windpipe before the tension eases. The familiar metallic clink of the closing buckle signifies Gabriel's possession. Here, now, tonight, Gabriel is his.

Mohinder's finger hooks between the leather and Gabriel's neck. The collar is buckled at the same notch as usual; never tight enough to bind his breathing and never loose enough to fall to the hollow of Gabriel's throat. But still, as usual, Mohinder insists on running his finger around the gap between skin and suede to double check before they begin, and check again, that this part, at least, of Gabriel's ownership is comfortable.

With the collar in place, Gabriel sits up again without being ordered, sighing slightly as his shoulders move away from the stability of Mohinder's legs. His fingers flex against the roughness of the carpet and Mohinder crouches at his side. With slow and deliberate movements, Mohinder clasps a wide leather cuff to each of Gabriel's wrists.

"Beautiful," he says again, breathless, dazed and in a near awestruck hush. The brush of his fingers against Gabriel's jaw is Gabriel's reward for allowing himself to be so literally caged.

He knows how looks as he kneels on the floor, shirtless, collared, aroused. Mohinder has made him watch himself in the mirror many times before, one dark hand curved around Gabriel's too-pale throat, forcing his head up to see. With slender fingers and a hoarse, breathy voice he has drawn Gabriel's attention to the firmness of the muscles of his stomach, the strength of his thighs and the definition of his chest. He has pointed to the quiver of Gabriel's cock as it rises, glistening, at the crux of his legs, and has whispered filthily in Gabriel's ear about the weight and hang of his balls as he cradled them, displaying them on his palm. He has insisted that Gabriel acknowledge the contrast of dark and light, leather and flesh that Mohinder finds so appealing.

Deft hands creep over his shoulders, kneading circles into the broad expanse of his chest. His left nipple catches on the strap of Mohinder's watch and when he grunts, flinching instinctively away from the fleeting sting, Gabriel feels Mohinder's knee at his back, holding him warningly in place. Long fingers twist in his chest hair, restlessly playing with the coarse, dark hairs and stroking the skin below.

Gabriel wants to reach up and cover Mohinder's hands with his own. He wants to guide one down lower to rub against his cock and hold the other over his heart, tracing around his nipple with thumbs that work in tandem. But it is not for him to demand or even to ask. Mohinder knows what Gabriel wants, what he always wants: to be held close, kissed and brought to orgasm with Mohinder wrapped around him, whispering words of love and devotion against his neck, but tonight isn't about _want_. Tonight is nothing but _need_; Mohinder's need to test Gabriel's self-control and Gabriel's need to prove himself worthy of Mohinder's trust.

So, Mohinder's fingers tug and pull and tease his hairs and the frustration builds in Gabriel's aching groin. In the dark cavern within him, where his abilities rattle and claw to be free, Gabriel ignores the gnawing, seductive whisper of power. And they both endure, knowing the release, when it comes, will be better for the temptations denied.

Wet lips suck kisses to the crook of his neck. A hand hooks around his throat, thumb stroking the worn leather collar, again and again, before dipping below to pet the skin beneath. Mohinder's fingers fist in his hair and his head is pulled suddenly, sharply back.

Instantly, panic chills Gabriel's body. Bile rises in his throat at the memories of Bennet and blood and pain. The slice of the box cutter through his neck and the searing, overwhelming terror of death wash over him with perfect clarity from somewhere feral in his mind. He writhes away from the hand that holds him; _Mohinder's hand_ his logical mind repeats but reality is drowned under the riptide of his anxious, laboured breathing. The eidetic memories of fear cannot be displaced. He twists violently, trying to stand, anything to get away.

Mohinder's fist closes tighter in his hair. The hand around his neck squeezes threateningly and some distant part of Gabriel is aware that Mohinder probably thinks that he is being obstinate for no good reason. So, he cries out, "No!"

Mohinder's grip falters, and then grows ever tighter still. Mohinder's body has curled over him, pressing his upturned nose to the centre of Mohinder's chest, smothering him, making his ragged breaths more difficult than they already are. Mohinder's fingers unconsciously trace the line where Gabriel's scar would be if Gabriel's body could scar.

"Please! Stop, no!" he babbles, his words falling on impassive ears. Mohinder has long since trained himself to be immune to Gabriel's pleas. But tonight, Gabriel isn't trying to subvert Mohinder's authority and in the white noise of rage and panic that thrums through him, those banished powers crackle dangerously close to his fingertips.

The fingers of his left hand curl, itching to toss Mohinder from him and Gabriel can feel himself careening towards a mistake that could never be forgiven.

"Red!" he cries, finally able to recall the key that sets him free.

Immediately, Mohinder's hands fall away. He rounds Gabriel's body quickly, knocking against him with what would be bruising force in his haste. He drops to his knees between Gabriel's still spread legs. Gabriel's forehead falls, exhausted, to his shoulder and Mohinder encloses him wordlessly in a tight embrace. Gabriel's hands clutch at Mohinder's back, restless with the panic not yet dissipated.

Gabriel's brow is slick where it presses against Mohinder's clavicle and he can feel trickles of sweat sliding down his back, welling under his arms and beading down his sides. His jeans feel damp and heavy, uncomfortable to be wearing. His erection is mostly gone. The air in the room feels too cold against his skin and he trembles, even as Mohinder rubs his back briskly to warm him. Mohinder's cheek rests upon the top of Gabriel's head. Mohinder doesn't question or demand an explanation, he simply holds and shushes and comforts.

Slowly, slowly, with deliberate effort, Gabriel pushes aside the memory of what it is to die. He ignores the crushing weight in his lungs at the knowledge that no matter what their lives may hold, mortality, _humanity_, is a fate he will never be allowed to protect Mohinder from. He whimpers at the icy tightness that pulls at his chest whenever he thinks on an eternity of loneliness. Mohinder kisses him softly, his lips resting lightly against Gabriel's hair and when Gabriel renews the fervour of his embrace, he dimly notes that the hum of his abilities has receded once more.

"Ok?" Mohinder asks tentatively when Gabriel snuffles into the curve of his neck. He nods against Mohinder's shoulder, smiling weakly for him even as he knows Mohinder cannot see his face to appreciate the gesture.

Mohinder stands, his knees and spine cracking as he uncurls his body and he perches on the edge of the bed. He leans down, his fingers alighting on the hinge of Gabriel's jaw and urges him closer. Gabriel walks forward on his knees, settling on instinct between Mohinder's legs. Without conscious thought, his left hand rises, going to the buckle of Mohinder's belt but Mohinder redirects the path of his hand to rest on his hip, murmuring words too quietly for Gabriel to hear over the dissonance of his thoughts. Gabriel rests his cheek on Mohinder's upper thigh, his face nuzzled in the warmth of Mohinder's lap as Mohinder gently strokes his hair.

And maybe it's a result of so many years spent playing these games or maybe it's testament to the hold Mohinder has on him because kneeling like this, vulnerable before him, allowing himself to be cosseted and comforted feels more like love than anything Gabriel, or Sylar, has ever known. In the safety of Mohinder's presence, his fears for the future and the spectres of the past seem to melt away.

Eventually he lifts he head from where Mohinder cradles him and with sure hands on his biceps, Mohinder helps him stand.

"Ok?" he asks again as he looks up on Gabriel's looming form, from where sits, still half on and half off the bed.

"Yeah," Gabriel whispers, pulling Mohinder up too so that they can kiss. Mohinder's fingers flutter against his cheeks, brushing away the wetness that has escaped Gabriel's eyes. Mohinder's mouth tips open, questions hovering on his tongue but Gabriel knows that Mohinder doesn't like to pry so he cuts him off, speaking before Mohinder is forced to ask.

"Bad memory," he states with a self-deprecating shrug. Mohinder studies him, his fingers still stroking his cheekbone but doesn't force a further explanation. His fingers wind aimlessly downwards and when Mohinder strokes his throat, he pulls his hand away suddenly, as if slapped.

"It's ok," Gabriel reassures him quickly. He grabs Mohinder's hand and knits their fingers together. "I don't like having my hair pulled, that's all." It feels a little ridiculous to say aloud. He knows how out of all proportion his reaction must seem but Mohinder doesn't fear death and Gabriel refuses to be the reason that he starts.

"I'm sorry," Mohinder says softly.

"You didn't know." Gabriel shrugs again and this time when they embrace, his arms fold around Mohinder and it is Mohinder's face that buries in the crook of his neck. It is his lips that kiss Mohinder's hair and his cheek that rests on Mohinder's crown. "Everything's ok, now."


End file.
